


Special Delivery

by Huggle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Castiel in the Bunker, Dean and Sam rescue Cas, Do not touch the Winchesters' angel, Gen, Graphic Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Ketch is a bastard, Kidnapped Castiel, Kidnapping, Non-consensual sedation, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 08:06:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12836883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huggle/pseuds/Huggle
Summary: The British Men Of Letters would love an angel to play with, Ketch most of all.When they get their wish, Mick has to choose a side, and Dean and Sam gain first hand experience of just how twisted their proposedalliescan be.





	1. Chapter 1

Winter was starting to bite, but even in the warmer months of the year Mick always found The Dock, as it was known, to be the chilliest part of the facility.

He wasn’t sure why Ketch wanted him down there, but he had better things to do than watch inventory coming and going.

Well, more going, lately, but if they wanted to keep their noses clean as far as the Winchesters were concerned it meant relocating certain parts of their operation…

And not inventory, either...

Mick swallowed down his regret at the way he had viewed, up until recently, every single creature their organisation had lumped together as ‘monsters’. 

At the way they had treated them. At the things he, personally, had done. In the name of protecting the public, furthering the ideals of the Men, and sometimes…rarely...mercy.

Some of the things he had killed deserved to die. They were true monsters, feeding on humans because they not only needed to, but desired it.

But many were victims of circumstance and could have been helped. Or were managing on their own to control their nature, and exist without hurting others.

They’d been euthanised all the same. 

He’d participated on many an occasion.

But he knew better now, shown the light by two American brothers. Until the Winchesters, he hadn’t realised how badly corrupted he’d been by the Letters.

His guilt gnawed at him, and it wasn’t lessened by the fact that he was still there, working for them.

But no one left the organisation. There was no happy retirement, or former employees choosing another career.

You stayed until you died, or were no longer required. And if you were that unfortunate….

Mick pushed the memories away fiercely. He couldn’t function while torturing himself over what he’d done. He couldn’t change any of it, and he wasn’t sure what his chances were going forward.

As he felt now, killing something or someone that was not a threat seemed beyond him.

But if he didn’t…. If he failed to carry out orders, or if someone realised he didn’t think the way he did before…

Whatever happened, Mick knew he’d have to put himself first. He’d seen what became of the operatives who suffered a change of heart.

He found Ketch in the office, peering out onto the floor through the wide glass window. He had a IPad in his hands, scrolling down through a list of contents.

Mick came to stand by him, and made sure he didn’t look out to see what poor bastard, human or otherwise, was being carted off for destruction or study.

Or both.

“What is it?”

Ketch didn’t look up. “Just giving you the heads up,” he said. “Since you’re so friendly with our would be associates, these days.”

MIck forced his heart rate to settle. Ketch couldn’t know. He’d been so very careful. He hadn’t set a foot wrong, and the Winchesters weren’t likely to tell anyone that he’d encountered an infected werewolf and not killed it...her...immediately.

But all the same…

“What are you talking about?”

Ketch tapped the window with the edge of the pad, and Mick turned and looked without thinking.

There was no mistaking the form being wheeled into view.

He was naked, head to toe, and that did throw Mick for a moment since every other time he’d seen the Winchesters’ angel, he looked like an accountant.

But it was him, head lolling, body a limp weight as he was placed on one of the preparation tables.

It took him a moment to find his voice.

“I thought,” he said, carefully, “that our aim was an alliance with the Winchesters. And through them, the network of American hunters.”

Ketch nodded. “That is the plan.”

“Then correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think this will make them exactly eager to work with us. It’ll make them homicidal.”

He didn’t even want to know how they’d managed to incapacitate the angel to this extent. He didn’t appear harmed so he hadn’t been beaten into submission.

“I’ve never understood their affection for it,” Ketch said. He shrugged. “Yes, Mick, getting them on our side is still our directive. But our superiors aren’t at all convinced they’ll come fully around. In the meantime, they tend not to share their toys, and there is a lot we can learn with unfettered access to the halo.”

Mick felt sick as he watched them open a large black box and remove a black body suit, then several thick steel plates. Each was engraved with a series of interwoven sigils. “How did they…”

Ketch looked up, and smiled as the men quickly dressed the angel in the body suit. It covered every inch, from toes to just under his neck. “First chance to test the suit in the field, as it were. Our R&D department finally found an effective sedative. Oh, it was risky, but one of our snipers darted him. That way, if it _didn’t_ work, there was no risk of exposure.”

The men slid each of the plates into the ready made receptacles on the suit. The straps hung loose, for now. 

The mask would come first. 

Even though he knew Castiel wasn’t human, Mick couldn’t help but feel claustrophobic as he watched. The mask was formed of a rigid plastic unit, overlying a solid steel base. Both were engraved with the same sigils as the plates. It was fitted over the angel's mouth and nose. 

All experimental, but thought likely to prevent an angel from using his true voice as a weapon, and then fleeing his vessel if all else was lost. 

And what came next…. Mick could very much understand not wanting to be in a body under those circumstances. 

He still expected Castiel to wake as the straps around the suit were tightened. The men had to use the winches at the sides of the table to get enough tension, but Mick saw when it worked. 

It was one thing to see the plans for the suit, back when the capture of a live angel had seemed unlikely. There were none overtly in operation back home.

It was quite another to see the suit in a practical situation and Mick desperately wanted to look away, but dared not show weakness in front of Ketch.

“If we kill him….”

Ketch laughed. “It’s an angel, Mick. It doesn’t breathe. There are certain autonomic practices this might impede, but there’s no risk of brain damage or death, not from this.”

Mick watched him as he watched Castiel and his stomach turned at the expression on Ketch's face. He was _enjoying_ this. Possible the only way he might have enjoyed it more was if the angel was awake. And if the Winchesters were nearby and helpless as they watched as well.

Yes, Ketch truly enjoyed his work.

“How do you plan to explain his sudden absence to them?”

Ketch turned a cold gaze upon Mick, and he fought the urge to shrink back. “Him? Oh, this isn’t sudden. We’ve been watching them, Mick, as you know. Listening. Disappearing is a trait with this thing. Dean hates when it does that, but he hasn’t quite figured out a way to discourage the behaviour. I thought about lending him a training collar, but I can imagine what he’d suggest I do with it.

“Anyway, should they realise their pet is missing rather than out of touch, it doesn’t matter. If our relationship turns sour, we simply keep the angel. If not, we return it.”

Mick scoffed at him. “Return it? To tell them what we did?”

Ketch sighed. “MIck, you seem to think we don’t have a plan for all eventualities. We’ve outsourced this one; the transport personnel, the guards at the storage facility, all of them are American. They don’t know who we are, they don’t have any information on us. There’s nothing to link us to them. The angel will simply know it was taken, and…. Things were done.”

Mick didn’t need to ask what things. He didn’t even have to use his imagination.

The angel was now secure. He was lifted, carefully, and carried towards a waiting truck. He was, it seemed, the only passenger this time around. There was a shelf bolted against one wall, and his unconscious body was laid upon it, and strapped in.

The truck door was closed, and bolted, and then the vehicle pulled away.

Ketch waited until it was gone, and then turned off the IPad. 

“I have to review their next tapes,” he said. “Several more hours of drivel, no doubt. Until later.”

Mick stood there for a few minutes after he was gone.

Castiel wasn’t a monster.

Dean and Sam cared for the angel.

They could have killed Mick, when they learned what he’d done at the hospital. They could have killed him to protect that girl.

The treatment that awaited Castiel once he awoke, if he was allowed to, churned Mick’s gut. He’d never endorsed it, simply accepted it was necessary if distasteful.

Ketch probably had videos.

But here it was. Mick hadn’t expected it so soon. The point where he was standing toe against the line that had been drawn for him, with only two directions to choose to go. 

Forward, over it, in which case he was a spineless thing and worse than anything he’d ever put a bullet in.

Or back, fighting years of indoctrination and essentially committing suicide. Because he would be found out, exposed, and it could end only one way if that happened.

And there wasn’t much time to decide.


	2. Chapter 2

As they waited, concealed in the scrub by the road, Dean though back to the texts he’d received.

He didn’t know who’d sent them but he had an idea. Maybe they had managed to turn Mick around, but all the same…

If Mick had known in advance the Letters’ plans for Cas, and done nothing to warn him or them, Dean was going to kill him.

Ketch first, then him.

The first text had been cryptic, out of the blue.

 _ **DON’T REACT**_.

Then, a moment later, before he actually _could_ :

_**THE BUNKER IS BUGGED.** _

_**KETCH HAS THE ANGEL.** _

_**I’LL TELL YOU HOW TO LOCATE THE TRUCK.** _

So, now here they were, one of the abandoned cars from the garage skewed across the road, hood up, and leaving no space for the truck to get past.

It was the oldest trick in the book, but their ‘mystery’ informant had made it clear there was one guy driving, and he wasn’t a Brit, just somebody they’d hired to get the truck, get Cas, from A to B.

He probably didn’t even know he was transporting a person.

For that reason, and that reason alone, Dean wasn’t going to kill him.

The truck rumbled into view, and pulled up when the driver saw the road was blocked.

He honked his horn, once, and when no one came he got out.

Sam was on him before he got three feet, twisting his arm half up his back, and grabbing a fistful of his hair.

“Do you have the keys for the back?”

He was panicked, but Sam was strong enough to stop him struggling.

Dean stalked over and aimed his gun at the man’s head. “Keys. Where?”

The driver directed him to the cab, and Dean found a bundle of keys in the glove box.

He waved them at Sam, and his brother switched to a choke hold which had the guy out in seconds.

Sam dragged him to the side of the road, and then ran back to join Dean.

It seemed to take forever to find the right key, and Dean had to stop his hands from shaking.

He didn’t know what state they were going to find Cas in. Maybe he wasn't even in there. Maybe this was misdirection, or a trap, or …

Maybe Cas was dead, and they’d find his body.

But the guy…. Okay, Mick, it had to be Mick…. Dean didn’t get that vibe.

They hadn’t exactly bonded over Claire, but Dean could see light at the end of that particular tunnel. Mick wasn’t like Ketch, some sadistic jobsworth who got a hard on from killing things.

He didn’t know what Mick’s story was, but right now all he knew was he wanted his angel back.

He found the right key, cracked the padlock, threw back the bolt, and rolled the door up.

“Fuck,” Sam said.

Dean launched himself into the truck. He wrangled with the restraining straps, tearing them lose. Sam was there, helping, and then they were able to lift Cas from the shelf and put him down on the floor.

A little warning from Mick would have been great. What would have been better was Mick intervening earlier, or calling them so that they could.

Cas was dressed in a plain black body suit. But the front (and, they saw, the back, when they carefully rolled the angel onto his side) was fitted with solid steel plates. Each one was engraved with Enochian sigils.

And each one had a thick strap fitted across it, and each of those straps had been pulled tight enough to dislocate Cas’s shoulders, elbows and hips.

He got the point of it; the marked plates would prevent Cas from healing the damage and pushing his joints back into their proper position. 

And the mask…. The mask meant he couldn’t escape his vessel. Not that Cas would, because that was his body now and he couldn't exactly just leave it. But it also meant he couldn’t use his true voice as a weapon.

And, between the mask, and the pressure on his chest, he probably also couldn’t breathe.

Panic overtook him, fast and brutal. He clawed at the buckles that held the straps in place, but they were pulled so tight he couldn’t undo them. He tore out a couple of nails by trying, and then Sam had a hold of his shoulders and was shaking him.

Dean didn’t realise he’d been yelling his fears until Sam started yelling back.

“Dean! Dean, listen to me. Cas doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t need air. He’s sedated, not dead. He doesn’t even know this happened to him. But if you wake him up, then he will, and he might panic because we can’t get him out of this here. He’s going to be alright.”

Dean clung to Sam’s words like they were a lifeline. He knew Sam was right. But all the same he’d seen Cas breathe. He’d stood vigil when the angel was hurt, or unconscious, and watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Even felt for a pulse, because he needed that reassurance.

He’d even caught himself watching when Cas wasn't hurt, and Cas had caught him and explained it once.

His body, now his actual body, not a vessel, did many things automatically that it took more energy and focus to stop than was necessary and were a benefit rather than a hindrance.

Cas could simply arrest his body’s respiration and pulse, but they helped him seem human, so he let them continue.

He didn’t need them for any other reason.

But not needing to and not being able to because some sadistic bastards and contorted his body to prevent him were two completely different things.

At least they were able to remove the mask, and Dean threw it hard across the truck, bouncing it off one of the walls.

The edges had marked Cas’s face, leaving red lines down his cheeks, across the bridge of his nose and his jaw.

Blood trickled from his nose, and Dean dabbed at it using edge of his sleeve. There was no way Cas didn’t have internal injuries, but once they got him out of this suit he should start to heal.

Like Sam said, they just couldn’t do that here.

Praying that Cas remained unconscious until they had him home, and free of the suit, Dean lifted Cas’s upper body and Sam got his legs.

They had to set Cas down to open the back door of the car, but then Sam climbed in after laying Cas out on the back seat, and pulled the angel into his lap and held on to him.

Dean was the faster driver, so he got behind the wheel and put his foot down.

Until he got Cas home, and made sure he was okay, and got him to wake up, he wouldn’t feel his angel was truly safe.

As for the old car...well, anyone who found it could have it. The interior was wiped down, and as for the driver and the truck…

Dean doubted it’d lead back to Ketch and his pals but that wasn’t his problem.

He had one priority right now.


	3. Chapter 3

Between them, they hefted Cas’s body down the stairs from the garage and then into the bunker proper.

They moved fast, but carefully, anxious to get Cas out of the Letters’ suit before he regained consciousness. Knowing Cas, any panic would be short lived once he came fully awake. And especially when he realised he was home, they were there, and would help him.

But those moments might do him more damage and, even if they didn’t, Sam knew Cas would experience horrific pain.

Whatever sedative Ketch and his people had given Cas, Sam hoped it kept working just a little while longer.

But they were Winchesters, all three of them, and Sam should have known better than to hope their luck would hold.

They had set Cas down on the nearest table in the infirmary when he jerked suddenly. They both froze, watched him struggle his way to consciousness, and - predictably - try to move.

They both reached for him at the same time, yelling, trying to stop him, but it was too late.

Cas screamed. His neck arched, mouth wide, and every single piece of glass (, beakers, windows, utensils), in the infirmary exploded into shards.

Their eardrums would be next. Sam grabbed for the angel, hating how easy it felt to pin him thanks to the suit, hating that he was probably hurting Cas but there was nowhere to hold him that wasn’t damaged. 

Dean grabbed his head, cupped it in his hands, forced Cas to focus on him.

“Look at me, buddy. Yeah, c’mon, Cas. I know, I know this hurts. Try to hang on, okay. You're in some kind of suit that’s stopped you healing and...and you took some damage. But we’re going to fix it, okay?”

Cas’s cries dialled down. He whimpered, looking in confusion from Sam to Dean. Still a little out of it, then, but not enough.

Fuck Ketch. The next time Sam saw him, he was going to pay for this. Sam could never work with them, not after what they’d done today. They’d hurt his family.

“Dean,” Cas panted. “Sam, I…. What happened? I can’t...I can’t move!”

Dean hadn’t let Cas go, but his words seemed to fail him. He looked to Sam in a silent plea.

Sam leaned in, no longer having to pin Cas down, and stroked lightly through his hair.

“Cas, they wrapped some kind of steel plates around you. They're bearing sigils we think are stopping you from breaking free and healing, and they…”. He tailed off. Part of him knew there was no point in trying to hide the truth from the angel; Cas would need to bear with them as they cut him out, and then work to heal the damage.

But telling someone that probably most of his joints were now out of place, and he probably had broken ribs and internal damage wasn’t easy to say, and probably was even harder to hear.

Still, Sam had told himself a while back he wouldn’t lie any more to his family. That included when telling the truth was hard.

“They used these restraining straps attaching the plates to pull your joints out of alignment,” he continued. “We think you’re busted up inside, but once we get you out of this thing, you’ll be able to heal, okay?”

Cas started to nod, and then his face creased up in pain. “Please,” he begged. “Please, get it off.”

They picked scalpels out of the remains of the glass medical cabinet against the wall, and told Cas to keep as still as he could.

He tried, they could see the effort, but his body was wracked with tremors. Even so, they were both experts at handling blades and with the thinness of the scalpels, they were able to slip the metal between Cas and the straps and slice through.

One by one each gave and they ripped the plates away and tossed them to the side.

That just left the suit. To be honest, once the plates were gone, Sam had expected Cas to just sit up and tear the suit off and be fine.

But the red marks from the mask were still etched into his face.

He exchanged a worried look with his brother, and then they started on the suit. They sliced it off efficiently, only realising belatedly that Cas was naked beneath it.

Another reason to deal with those bastards later, but it was pointless to get Cas a blanket. They would have to make sure he was okay since he just wasn’t repairing himself as Sam, and clearly Dean, given the tight look on his face, had expected.

When they had the suit down to his waist, drawing small noises of discomfort from Cas that they could tell he was trying to hold in, they saw why.

Dean grabbed one of the plates (Cas flinched as Dean picked it up, then groaned at the pain the movement caused and Sam had to settle him again) and flipped it over.

The sigils had been engraved so deeply into the metal plating that they stood out on the undersides.

On Cas’s chest, shoulders, arms, the imprint of the sigils stood out in harsh bruises.

They might as well have etched them into his skin.

No wonder he wasn’t healing.

Dean threw the plate so hard it chipped stone from the wall.

Cas couldn’t look down, but he’d seen the plate, and his jaw tightened.

“Okay,” Sam said. “Cas…. Cas, we-”

“I know. You’ll have to relocate my limbs for me.”

Sam swallowed, hating the taste of bile in his mouth. And even when that was done (and he had a vision of how horrific it was going to be) there was still Cas’s internal injuries. That they couldn’t fix; and neither could Cas, not until the bruises faded enough to let his Grace do its job. At least it was still present which meant that while Cas might be suffering, he wouldn’t die.

But the suffering would be extreme. Except…

Sam looked over at Dean. “We’ve got morphine.” They had a lot of it, and he was conscious it might take all their stock to knock Cas out.

Dean glared at him. “No. No fucking way.”

“You want him to feel this?”

“We don’t even know what shit they pumped into him. What if there’s a reaction, or he overdoses?”

“His Grace will keep him alive, Dean, come on, you-”

“Stop it,” Cas said. He was breathing hard, voice tight. “Stop talking about me as if I’m not here, as if you have to decide for me.”

They exchanged guilty looks, and then Dean spoke up. “We’re just trying to take care of you, Cas. We don’t want to lose you.”

Sam nodded. “This is going to hurt, and it’s doesn’t have to. When you wake up, the worst of it will be over.”

Cas glanced between them. “I don’t want to be unconscious,” he said.

No, Sam supposed, he wouldn’t. Who would? He didn’t know how the Letters had managed to knock Cas out, but he could imagine, if it had been him, not wanting to be helpless again, out cold and unawares.

But Dean…. Sam wasn’t surprised when Dean seemed to take Cas’s fear personally.

“You don’t think you’d be safe with us?”

Cas seemed to struggle for a response and Sam wanted to shake his brother. But then Cas answered him.

“I just…. Dean…”

Dean leaned over him. He let his hand rest on Cas’s cheek, the only possible place to touch him without worsening his pain.

“Nothing is going to touch you, Cas, I promise. You’re going to wake up, and you’ll be here and you’ll be safe, and you won’t be alone.”

“Please,” Sam added. “Cas, we don’t want you to be in any more pain that we can help.”

Cas hurt too much to nod, but they could see when his decision was made. Sam went to the drawer where they kept the drugs, and hypodermic needles, and wheeled it over on a small trolley.

He filled the syringe with the first ampoules, waited until Dean had carefully guided Cas’s jaw around so the angel was staring at him, and then gave him the injection.

It took six of the ampoules, less than Sam expected, but maybe helped along by whatever was left of the sedative already in Cas’s system, before Cas finally went under.

And Dean made sure he was the last thing Cas saw before his eyes closed.

When they were sure, Sam pushed the trolley aside, and stared at the swollen distorted joints of Cas’s body.

“You ready?”

Dean’s face was ghostly white, his hands shaking. With nerves or anger, it was impossible to tell. Probably both. 

“Not one fucking bit,” he said, and then he reached down to take hold of Cas’s arm.

++

Mick’s phone chirped. He glanced at the assembled group, figured that with their attention so diverted, he could risk it, and read the message.

_**He’s alive. Don’t do it again.** _

_**We owe you one.**_.

He fought down a grin.

Ketch’s door swung open, and he stalked out. His face was an alarming shade of purple, and Mick spotted his skinned bloody knuckles.

No doubt from the impact with the wall in his office, which was probably felt in London he’d hit it so hard.

The unfortunate operative who’d broken the news came scurrying out behind him, and fled.

“Something wrong?” The people who’d gathered to see what the disruption was hastily found other places to be, but Mick was not going to miss this.

Ketch composed himself with a force of will. He fixed Mick with a suspicious stare. “It appears the Winchesters ambushed our truck and reclaimed their property.”

“How unfortunate.” It was dangerous, and he knew it. He was baiting a viper.

But an innocent man would have no hesitation, and Mick was going to play that role as brilliantly as he could.

“Yes. Quite.” Ketch made a small moue: _it’s of no import_. “But they don’t know it was us, and there will be other opportunities.”

He stormed away, and Mick stared after him.

He probably wouldn’t be able to warn the Winchesters next time, not without completely giving himself away. 

Whatever happened now, he hoped Dean managed to persuade Castiel to stay close to them at all times. Because the minute the angel was alone, Mick had a feeling Ketch would be lying in wait.

++

Cas stayed unconscious for another two hours before he burned through the morphine. 

Dean and Sam had fought about whether or not to move him to his room. On the one hand, his own bed would probably be more comfortable than the rigid, clinical gurneys in the infirmary.

But even after they had carried out the relocations, Cas’s internal injuries still had to heal. The infirmary somehow seemed the place, until Dean had pointed out to Sam that there was literally not a thing they could do to help beyond what they had already.

And Dean desperately wanted Cas to wake up in his room. He’d promised Cas they’d be there, and he’d be safe and okay, and somehow he felt Cas coming to in his own bed would help reinforce that.

If he was going to be in pain no matter where he was, and that made Dean angry and sick in the same moment, then he might as well be there.

Cas opened his eyes and looked slowly around him, but there was no sudden movement; it was as if he remembered his circumstances and knew better than to do anything to risk further damage or incite more pain.

They both leaned in, anxious that he know they were there but equally wary of startling him.

“Hey,” Dean said, softly. “How are you feeling?”

Cas closed his eyes, grimaced. He let out a long, shaky breath.

“Better,” he said, but they could both see that _better_ didn’t mean _good_.

“Cas,” Sam said.

The angel looked up at the ceiling. “I’m bleeding internally. It’s slower than it was, so my Grace must be fighting against the sigils and working to reduce the bruising, which is letting it heal the rest of my injuries. It’ll take some time.”

“But you will heal,” Dean said. He tried not to make it sound like he doubted. After getting Cas back from Lucifer, they weren’t losing him to Ketch’s sadistic schemes.

“Yes,” Cas said. “Though I’ll be mostly immobile until then.”

He said it like an apology, like this was somehow all his fault.

Sam glanced at Dean, and he knew just from the look in his brother’s eyes that the next time he saw Ketch, it’d be the last time.

But right now, Cas was all that mattered.

Sam rested his hand on Cas’s shoulder.

“And that’s okay,’ he told the angel. “Because we’ll be here for anything you need. We’ll keep you safe, Cas. That’s what family does.”


End file.
